You were a delicate butterfly

So eternally beautiful

But I hated your pure wings

Hated your all-knowing eyes

 

You were a faultless mirror

So morally irreproachable

But reflected in your depths

I saw my shallowness

Reflected, I saw my darkness

 

You were a blinding light

So contrasting against me

But your light I couldn’t extinguish

So my own smallest light I gave to you

A single blessed feeling

I gave for you to hold in memory

Of a shadow wanting to be the sun

 

I gave you the best of me

But unsoiled you threw it to the ground

No longer pure

You soiled yourself with such a purpose

A butterfly transformed into a moth

Did I make a mistake in your image?

Or all we all moths draw to a flame?